


Ache

by DaniStormborn



Category: The Sopranos
Genre: F/M, Stupid that Furio doesn't have more stuff, Stupid that this fandom is so small, This story is totally gonna run away from me, characters to be added as story progresses, just watch, tags to be added as story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26694271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaniStormborn/pseuds/DaniStormborn
Summary: Not long after their wedding, newlyweds Tony and Carmela Soprano find themselves surrounded by grief. Their good friends, Leo and Fabrizia Capaletti die in a horrific car accident, leaving behind their newborn daughter – Tony and Carmela’s goddaughter - Ariella Capaletti. Four years before Meadow, Tony and Carmela adopt Ariella as their daughter, christening her Ariella Capaletti Soprano.Twenty-two years later, Ariella is a beautiful starving artist about to graduate from NYU. She is the unspoken apple of Tony’s eye, beloved of her Uncle Pauli and “cousin” Christopher. When Tony goes to Italy on business and takes Ariella with him to see her own family in the Old Country, Ariella meets Furio Giunta. Taken aback by his intensity, he nevertheless embarks on a two week seduction that leaves her reeling. She falls for him hard. But, of course, being a Soprano, it’s not nearly that easy.Nor that bloodless.-------He buried his hands deep in the front pockets of his trousers and continued on while she came to a stop. “What do you want from me, Furio?” She asked, exasperated. He sent her a small, sly smile over his shoulder.“I want you to ache for me.”
Relationships: Furio Giunta x OC Female
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. Dick-Whipped by Some Guy Named Paolo

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, just something that has weeviled it's way into my mind and refused to leave. I don't know how long this one will be, but I'm sure it will be a wild ride the entire damn time. 
> 
> Read, leave a comment if you are so inclined, and most of all, enjoy!
> 
> \-- DaniStormborn
> 
> \--------
> 
> Cast of Characters:  
> Ariella Capaletti Soprano: Jade Tailor  
> Victoria Pearlman: Emmy Raver-Lampman

* * *

_“May he love tomorrow who has never loved before; And may he who has loved, love tomorrow as well.”_

_\-- Pervigilium Veneris_

_“Give me the waters of Lethe that numb the heart, if they exist, I will still not have the power to forget you.”_

_\- Ovid_

* * *

Entering through the front door, Ariella paused for a moment. Her ears had been immediately assaulted by the sounds of her mother and father arguing. Most likely in the kitchen. They always seemed to argue in the kitchen. Maybe because the kitchen was her mother's stomping ground. The place where she felt the safest. Where she felt the most powerful against her father. _Some things never seem to change_ . . . She thought, with weariness. Stepping further inside, she hitched her messenger bag higher up on her shoulder. As quietly as possible, she closed the door behind her. She moved deeper into the house and danced nimbly out of the way to avoid being mowed over by her little sister. Meadow was mid-eye roll on her march to the stairs when she caught sight of Ariella. She paused beside her. She looked a tad green around the gills. In fact, she looked utterly miserable. Like at any moment, she could upchuck onto anything.

“What’s up with you? You feeling okay?” Ariella spoke, her voice hushed and full of concern. She lay a palm on her forehead. Meadow rolled her eyes again and shrugged.

“Stupid bullshit. You know, you’re lucky you’re out of this house, Ari! Living with them is hell!”

“Stop it. It’s not as bad as you think. You’re young and . . .” Ariella soothed her as her hand dropped from her head. Her words trailed off before she could add what she wanted to say: “Spoiled”. She held back, though. She could only imagine the tantrum Meadow would throw if Ariella lobbed that word at her. She wasn’t feverish, though, which only left one thing. Ariella sent her a searching glare. “How fucked up did you get?”

Meadow shook her head, all-of-a-sudden very defensive. With a forced, easily see-through casualness, she spoke. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Ariella crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Stop. You have no idea how long mom vented on the phone to me yesterday. Why did you do it, Mead? Why _grandma's_ house?”

Meadow’s shoulders crumpled. It was the universal sign that she was sick and tired of having to explain herself to people. “I didn’t _do_ anything! Jesus, Ari, I thought at least _you_ would believe me!” Her voice lowered, grew sweeter. More cloying. “Can I come stay with you? Just for a little while? Just to get away? You have _no idea_ how hard it is to study with them fighting all the time!”

Ariella shook her head. Her expression gentled. “Meadow, we’ve talked about this. You know what mom and dad think. Mom worries herself sick about me living in the city alone already. You know what she thinks about you _visiting_!”

Meadow opened her mouth to speak – to _complain_ – when their dad’s booming voice came from the kitchen. “Ari, that you?”

Meadow rolled her eyes and continued on her march towards the stairs. Ariella moved for the kitchen. She smiled when she saw her parents. She found her smile matched by beams from both Carmela and Tony Soprano.

“Oh, there’s my little munchkin! Back from the big bad city!” Tony spoke as he wrapped her up in a big bear hug. She felt her back pop.

“Hey, daddy . . .” She spoke, voice muffled, before she was finally released. Carmela was next. She planted a loving kiss on her temple before wrapping her in a hug redolent of “White Diamonds”.

Sheesh, you’d think they never saw her! She came home for dinner every Sunday!

“What were you guys fighting about?” She asked when Carmela finally released her. She plopped her messenger bag down onto the countertop. Her adopted mother sent a puckered look towards Tony.

“Your father and Uncle Pauli are going to Naples with Christopher for two weeks --!”

“And I want you to come with me.” Tony interjected before Carmela could speak further. There was that smirk on his face. The one that looked very much like the one the cat wore when he knew he had gotten the cream. Ariella gazed at him dumbfounded for a moment. She then looked back and forth between Carmela and Tony.

“Got to Naples? Me? I mean, why me?”

“Yes, Tony, why _just_ Ari? If it’s just a business trip and all . . ." Carmela spoke, acerbically. It dawned on Ariella then why Carmela looked so angry. Tony, Christopher, and uncle Pauli going to Italy on a business trip was one thing. That could be excused by Carmela with enough effort. Why would he want to bring Ariella if it was just a business trip, though? Why not bring the rest of the family, then, and make it a family vacation?

“I told you, Carm.” Tony spoke. The forced patience in his voice grew thinner by the minute now that they had broached the topic again. “Ariella has family in Naples. Grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins on her mother’s side. They’d want to see her!”

“I don’t know them, though! I’ve never met them in my life! I've only heard about them.” Ariella spoke, alarm filling her tone. “Daddy, I _really_ think --!”

“This would be good for you, munchkin.” Tony interrupted her, his tone brooking no future argument. “We’re going to go pay our respects to Don Vittorio Comorra.”

Any other words died and fell to ash on her tongue. All fight left her as understanding dawned. There was another reason Tony wanted her to go with him, then. Tony and Carmela had raised her as theirs. They were, after all, her godparents. Yet, they had never lied to her about her parents. Ariella’s father, Leo Capaletti, married Fabrizia Camorra. She was the oldest daughter of Don Vittorio Camorra. Ariella was mob royalty back in the Old Country. Tony showing up with her, a living remnant of the beloved, deceased Fabrizia, would definitely count for major points. Especially if Don Vittorio's granddaughter showed up healthy and happy.

“This will be a huge event for her, Ton’.” Carmela spoke, concern in her voice. Her hand brushed her shoulder blades. Obviously, this was the first Carmela was hearing of her husband's intentions, as well. Ariella felt very grateful for her mom’s comforting presence. “Shouldn’t she make these introductions with the rest of the family? So that we could be there to support her?”

“That’s the thing, Carm.” Tony spoke, shrugging. There was a flinty look to his eyes. “They won’t look at us like her family. We just fostered her – raised her. To them – the Camorras – _they_ are her true family! She should be there with them, not here with us. Besides . . .” He gave another shrug. “I’ll be there. Pauli will be there. Christopher. She’ll have all the support she needs. She’ll be perfectly safe! With who her grandfather is, no one would dare touch a _hair_ on her pretty little head!”

“I’m not worried about being safe, daddy! I can take care of myself. But meeting all these people I’ve only heard about before . . . it's easy for you to say that it’ll go smoothly!” Ariella spoke before she could stop herself. Her heart hammered in her chest. Fear washed over her tongue in an acrid tang. “You’re not the grandson of the man who controls the entire city of Naples! Meeting him – that’s fucking stressful!”

“You’re right, I’m not.” Tony spoke. He smiled. “But Ari . . . munchkin, you have no idea who I’d kill to make it so.”

* * *

“I don’t care what the reason is, girl, I’m still jealous your ass is going to Italy without me!”

Ariella shot an exasperated glare over her shoulder. She directed it towards her best friend and roommate. Victoria Pearlman was standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, fixing her makeup and fluffing her hair. She was probably the most beautiful woman Ariella had ever seen. She kill for that flawless mocha complexion. “Well, whatever then, don’t sympathize with me!” She spoke before shaking her head. She was sitting on the floor in front of a half-finished painting. It was one she had planned to use for her senior portfolio. Already, she had splatters on paint on her clothes and arms. She dipped her brush into the sapphire blue pool of acrylic paint on her pallet. There was even a dab of green on her foot.

“I’ll bring you back something, though! Like . . . I don’t know, a wheel of cheese or a bottle of wine or some other stereotypical Italian thing like that.”

The sound of Victoria’s heels on the hardwood filled her ears as she entered the living room. “Fuck that! Bring me back a man, huh?” She smirked, hands on her broad hips. “Girl, you know what they say about Italian men!”

Ariella shot her a smirk as she applied a hesitant streak of blue to her canvas. “I _don’t_. Actually. I’ve never dated one. Every Italian guy I’ve ever known has been a peacocking douchebag. Excuse me if I’ve made a habit of avoiding them. Which, depressingly --" She shrugged. "--shrinks down the dating pool in Manhattan to like . . . a puddle?”

“You _have_ dated one, though, right?” Victoria asked, brows furrowing. She moved to dig around in her purse for her lipstick. “I swear there was that one . . . what was his name? The really cute one? Goes to Rutgers?”

“Jackie?” Ariella spoke with an upturned brow. She shrugged. “Yeah, I mean . . . I guess? For like a few months during the summer when he came back. He was the fucking worst of them, though! Got me in bed and then immediately afterward started cheating on me. He’s scum. Nothing more but a pretty face. Not like his dad at all -- I loved Uncle Jackie to _death_!” She heaved a sigh. “It wasn’t like he was anything to write home about, either. Lazy. Self-absorbed. Like . . .” She paused in her painting. Her voice lowered. She made a few grunting sounds sans Silverback Gorilla. “Ugh. _Ugh_. I’m coming! Ughughugh – done! Night, baby.” She rolled her eyes as Victoria screamed with laughter.

When her friend's laughter died down, she took a seat on the couch. Slipping out her compact, she opened it and began applying her lipstick. Fire engine red. Ariella secretly wished she had Victoria’s confidence to wear such a color. When she stopped, she closed the compact and snapped the cover back on her lipstick. Both she returned to her purse as she spoke. “So, let me get this straight: you have _completely_ sworn off of Italian men?”

“Completely and totally. Since I was, like . . ." She squinted as she thought. "Ten?”

Victoria arched a brow. “And now you’re going to Italy?”

Ariella sent her a look in reply. “I know where you’re driving at, Vic. It’s not going to happen.”

“But it’s _Italy_ , Ari!” Victoria whined as she slipped down to her knees and moved over to her. “Look, Italian guys _from Italy_ are probably _nothing_ like these Jersey Shore douchebags here! After all, didn’t Italian dudes like . . . _invent_ the concept of romance?”

“Them or French dudes. It's probably intensely debatable between them.” Ariella muttered, sarcastically, before glancing at her. “Why are you harping on this? What’s your point?”

“Because, verne . . .!” Victoria spoke as she crossed her legs and moved to face her. “You haven’t had sex in how long, again?” Ariella opened her mouth to speak, but Victoria shook her head while holding up a hand. “No, no, don’t answer that! It was a rhetorical question. Listen. No offense, Ari, but every guy you have been laid by has been . . . well, let’s say he was _very disappointing_. It has, understandably, left a bad taste in your mouth!”

Ariella snorted a laugh as she continued painting. “Literally and figuratively!” She muttered. Victoria sent her a look as she continued.

“In a couple days, you’re going to one of the most beautiful countries with some of the _sexiest_ men on the whole damn planet! Why are you not opening yourself up for some hot, steamy romance? 'Cause . . ." She laughed. "You’re goddamn _right_ I’d be having hot fucking sex on some random Mediterranean beach with some guy named Paolo! Who might _also_ be a direct descendant of Julius Caesar!”

Ariella gave a caustic laugh. She shook her head. “Julius Caesar has no modern-day blood descendants, Vic.”

“ _Ariella_!”

She released a sound of exasperation and turned to gaze at her friend. “Well, maybe I don’t fucking want it? You ever think of that one?” Ariella spoke, with an acerbic tone that would have made Carmela proud. “I want to focus on school! Is that so bad? I don’t want to get mixed up with a guy and get my priorities all fucked up – not when we’re about to graduate! That _includes_ fucking some random Napolitano guy I will never see again after two weeks! Besides, I told you! I. Don’t. Like. Italian. Guys!”

“So, how’s that been going for you? No Italian guys?” Victoria asked, smirking. She moved to lean back on her hands. “I see that Irish guy didn’t last long. What was his name? Sean? Seamus?”

Ariella’s jaw hardened. “Victoria --!”

“Fine, fine! I get it! I’ll lay off!” Victoria spoke, interrupting her. She rose gracefully to her feet despite the four inch heels she was wearing. An uncomfortable silence fell between the two friends. Victoria busied herself by pulling on her coat and gathering up her things. After a moment, Ariella sighed.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

Victoria smiled. “Girl, it’s okay! I shouldn’t have pushed. I want you to be happy. Try to have fun while you’re gone, please? You’ve been so stressed out lately.”

Ariella sent her a small smile. “I’ll be fine. I’m sure I can find _something_ to do in Naples of all places. Who knows – I might get inspired by a bunch of shit and come home and knock my senior portfolio out of the ballpark in a week!”

Victoria hooked a thumb over her shoulder towards the door. “Sure you don’t want to come with? We’re gonna go to Corleone’s for a few drinks. I'll be back after a few hours. We’re not gonna go dancing or anything.”

Ariella shook her head. “No, I'll stay here. Thanks, though. I need to finish this painting up before I leave.” She glanced at her. “I love you, girl.”

Victoria’s smile grew smug. “Goddamn right you do! And watch -- mark my words! You’ll come home reeking of Italian romance and dick-whipped by some guy named Paolo! And I will sit there on that couch and _cackle_ while my hands are covered in sculpting clay!”

Ariella rolled her eyes. “Foreshadowing, much?”

Victoria winked. “You never know! That’s all I’m saying! Besides, what did they say in our Classical Lit class? Fortuna had one sick sense of humor?”


	2. Sketchbooks and Foreshadowing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a couple of differences between this story and the stories I usually write. Mainly, fans of mine will notice I am actually NAMING the chapters to this story. Don't get used to it, it probably won't happen again. There's just something about this story that demands it's chapters be named . . . hmm . . .
> 
> There will also be some playing fast and loose with the Sopranos timeline. It shouldn't be TOO fast and loose (I won't give you whiplash or anything) but if it does, don't be afraid to snap me up and be like: "Okay Dani! You're suspending our disbelief TOO much!". I'll thank you for it!

* * *

“I feel for you, you know?”

Ariella didn’t take her eyes off of her book as she answered. “Why?”

Sitting beside her on the plane, somewhere over the Atlantic, Christopher Moltisante shrugged. Slouched in his seat, hands clasped on his stomach, he gazed, bored, out the window. “There’s supposed to be this guy we meet at our hotel when we arrive – Furio something. He speaks English and is “supposed” to be our translator --” He did the air quotes with his fingers. “-- But you know Ton’ won’t trust anyone but you to translate for him.”

Ariella rolled her eyes. Finally tearing her gaze off of her book ("The Dark Half" by Stephen King), she pinned them onto her cousin. “I’m going with you guys to be _more_ than a translator, Christopher.”

“Oh, I know!” He spoke, emphatically, as he nodded his head. He then grinned and elbowed her. “Hey, you gonna go see that big fucking volcano with me? I don’t wanna go alone. It’d be cool if we could go together! Fun little daytrip.”

“We'll see. What are you going to bring home for Adriana?” She asked, changing the subject as she returned her gaze down to her book. Christopher shrugged again.

“I don’t know. What would you get her?”

Ariella snorted a laugh. “You asking _me_? Like _I_ would know what Adriana would want?”

“I don’t know . . . ‘cause you’re a woman?”

Ariella shook her head and smirked. “If you don’t know what your girlfriend would want you to bring her back from _Italy_ , then you are in deep shit, my friend!”

“Why you gotta be that way?” He asked, affronted, and she laughed.

“Why _you_ gotta be that way?”

He groaned. “Ari, I swear, don’t you start this!”

“Hey, I’m just saying, Christopher! If it was me in your shoes, I’d _definitely_ know what to bring home to my boyfriend.”

Christopher smirked. “You’re a woman – it’s easy for you! All you’d have to do is show up wearing some Italian lace and nothing else and _boom_! Greatest gift you ever could have given him! But if _I_ came home with lingerie, it’d look bad!”

Ariella furrowed her brows in confusion. “It would?”

“Oh yeah! She’d complain of me having a lack of originality!”

“This is _Adriana_ we’re talking about, right? Head as empty as a flower pot Adriana?”

“Don’t be so mean! You know she thinks the world of you. _She’d_ say there were _other_ things I could bring back from Italy than lingerie.”

“Well . . . she’d be right, you know?” She shook her head. “Look, I don’t know, Christopher. You might actually have to, oh, I don’t know – _use your head_ for once! I mean, surely you know Adriana beneath the skin-deep level, right?”

Christopher shook his head, pinning her with a wounded gaze. “Why you gotta be this mean to me, Ari? What have I ever done to you?”

“Oh, my fucking God, do you _seriously_ want to go there?” She asked, laughing, as she closed her book and turned to face him. “Do I _need_ to recount every shitty little thing you did to me when we were growing up?”

“Now, if I remember correctly, you swung back more than a couple times!” He spoke and she rolled her eyes.

_"Bona dea_! Just shut up, Christopher -- I’m trying to read here. Take a nap or go bother Pauli.”

* * *

“Look at this place -- the Mother County! T – here is where they make it real!”

Tony and Ariella rolled their eyes at each other. With sounds of relief, they all piled out of the car upon coming to a stop outside their hotel. They could almost see Pauli’s excitement dripping from his pores. Christopher looked gob-smacked with shock. He gazed, goggle-eyed, around them at the scenery. Ariella left her father, Pauli, and Christopher to stand on the sidewalk. She gazed up at the carved façade of the hotel stretching high above her. It was beautiful. Like every piece of scenery she had seen since landing on Italian soil. Already, her inner artist was going crazy. The inspiration had formed into almost a fountain in her head. For the first time, she regretted not bringing one of her sketchbooks. What she would _give_ for a scrap of paper and a pencil nub at that moment!

“You notice the women?” Christopher spoke as the three men finally joined her on the sidewalk. “You know what I noticed on the plane? Even the skanks are worth something here.”

Ariella rolled her eyes as the three men stopped on the sidewalk to gawk at two women walking back. “Really smooth there, Christopher. A regular Casanova.” She spoke before shooting the two women an apologetic smile. The three of them shared a roll of the eyes and a laugh. She turned to Tony. “Hey, daddy? You guys go on in. I’m gonna hang out here for a minute. Get some fresh air after the plane ride.”

“You sure, munchkin?” Tony asked. She nodded and smiled.

“Five minutes and then I’ll come join you. If not, send Christopher out to get me. You won’t have any problem convincing him, I’m sure!”

Tony laughed and pressed a kiss to her forehead before leading the other two into the hotel. Ariella released a sigh when he was gone. She turned around to face the road and the sea stretching beyond the skyline. Blindly, she fished around in her messenger bag and withdrew a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Pulling one out, she lit it and took a long drag as she replaced both pack and lighter in her bag. She held in the smoke for a moment before slowly releasing it. Her gaze darted around her. Oh yeah, she’d definitely have to invest in a sketchbook while she was here! Some pencils. Maybe some charcoal, too. There was no _way_ she’d be able to survive two weeks without them! Not with the current level of inspiration she was feeling.

She finished her cigarette quicker than she thought. She snubbed it out on the sidewalk and deposited it in the correct dispenser. She then turned to the hotel. Pulling open one of the glass doors, she darted inside. Her father and the guys were standing with two others deep in conversation. She released a little groan as she slowed her walk. She hated interrupting her dad when he was in a discussion with someone. Oftentimes, it was shit she wasn’t meant to hear.

The guy standing in front of Tony noticed her approach first. His gaze landed on her and an imperceptible look flashed across his eyes. His brows rose, his mouth opened ever-so-slightly. He looked surprised to see her. She ignored him as she moved to join her father. She had learned a long time ago to let Tony introduce her first. To do so otherwise _could_ be considered rude to some of his associates. Tony’s expressionless mask slipped when she joined them, only to be replaced with one of pride. He slipped an arm around her shoulders.

“Oh, there ya are! I was about to send someone out looking for ya.” He directed her introduction to the guy standing across from him. “I’d like to introduce you to my goddaughter, Ariella Capaletti Soprano. Ari, this is --!”

“Furio Giunta.” The man interrupted Tony before he could finish. He took up her hand and brushed his lips across the back of it. Tony stiffened beside her. She smirked as he sent her a smile. “ _Bellisima_! You are Don Vittorio’s granddaughter, correct? Signora Fabrizia’s daughter?”

She nodded as he released her hand, allowing it to return to her side. “Yeah. I am.”

His smiled broadened somewhat as he inclined his head. “Welcome to Italy, _tesora_.” Her brows arched in amusement as he nodded towards Tony. He slipped into Italian as he spoke: “I was telling your godfather that my boss, Nino, wishes for you to freshen up. Maybe get a little sleep before meeting. We’ll pick you at eight for dinner." He paused a beat before adding: "Everyone is very anxious to meet you, _tesora_.”

“ _Tesora_? I am not your treasure.” She spoke, her Italian as flawless as his. His smile broadened again. If that was a test, she just passed it with flying colors.

“Would you prefer ‘beautiful’?”

“I prefer my name, if you would be so kind. Respect, as well.”

Furio inclined his head. “Of course.” He spoke, in English, as the manager of the hotel announced that their rooms were ready. Pauli adorably exclaimed excitement over an honorific (to her, at least). Then, the three men nodded temporary farewells to their translators. Tony sent her a questioning look and she motioned that she would follow soon. Ariella hung back, garnering Furio’s further attention. He turned a look of curiosity down onto her as she smiled and laughed.

“I’m sorry, forgive me for this, but . . . I-I don’t know who else to ask!” She spoke, slipping back into Italian. He gave her a gracious nod.

“Of course! Ask me anything, _tesora_. That is why I am here, after all!”

“Okay.” She spoke, nodding. It wasn’t why he was there, though. He was their translator. He had no obligations to them other than that. So, why even entertain her? Why the fucking terms of endearment? Why the _test_ of whether she spoke Italian?

Her hands wrung nervously in front of her stomach. “Is there, a . . . _come si dice_ . . . ‘art supply store’ anywhere nearby?”

His brows furrowed in slight confusion. “You mean a -- forgive me -- place to buy art supplies? Paints, things like that?”

She nodded, relief suffusing her body. “Yes! Exactly! Do you have one of those nearby? I . . . forgot my sketchbook and things back home. I need to buy some more as soon as possible.”

He smiled again. He was _really_ quite good-looking when he smiled. She fought the heat that wanted to rise to her cheeks. “You are an artist?”

She nodded. “Painter. But I won’t here. I don’t . . . have the time, I think. I _can_ sketch, though, and I should have packed my supplies, but I didn’t. My loss. I stepped off the plane and have been . . . _hit_ by inspiration ever since!”

“What do you need?”

Her brows furrowed. “What?”

He shrugged, as if his offer was nothing more but him asking what the weather was like. “What do you need? I’ll get them for you.”

She shook her head, her eyes growing wide. She moved her hands through the air as she spoke. “Oh, no! No, no, no – I cannot ask you to do that!”

Furio chuckled. Smoothly, before she even realized he had done it, he reached out and stilled her hands with his. His tone gentled. “Do not think anything of it, _tesora_! You are a Camorra. Anything you wish while here, you will receive. Courtesy of your family.”

His hands were big and warm. They engulfed hers. Gently, she pulled hers free. She sent him a tight smile as she clasped them behind her back. “Thank you. I need a sketchpad. Pencils. Charcoals, too, if you can find them. Just . . . send them up to my room, I suppose?”

He smiled and inclined his head. “It would be my honor, _tesora_.”

She thanked him again before turning on her heels and quickly following the path of her father. Moving up the carpeted stairs, she was surprised to find her father waiting for her. Tony was leaning against the wall, arms crossed his chest. He had furrowed his brows delicately as he gazed at a painting on the wall. There was an ever-so-slight frown on his face. Glancing at it, Ariella saw it was a simple landscape, nothing too fancy. Oil on canvas, it looked like. Upon her approach, though, he smiled and wrenched his gaze away from it.

“What was that about?”

She shrugged. “I forgot my sketchpad and things back home. I asked him if there was any place I could buy more supplies.”

“Oh? Is there?”

She gave another, more cautious shrug. “I think so? I don’t know. He said he’d get them for me?” She paused. “He said it was because I was a Camorra. That I could get anything I wanted, all I'd have to do was name it.”

Tony smiled as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “You are, though, so get used to it! Here, you’ll find that name will open many doors. Doors you never would have _thought you could_ open! Come on, munchkin -- I’ll show you where your room is.”

They began climbing the stairs to their rooms, which, thankfully, were on the second floor. As they made their way to their rooms, Ariella glanced up at Tony. “Who’s Nino?” She asked, going back to what Furio said earlier about dinner. Tony shook his head.

“I don’t know, baby. I’ve never met him before. Never even _heard_ of him! _Hell_!” He released a frustrated laugh. “I don’t even know if Vittorio will be at this dinner tonight! Furio couldn’t say.”

“Or he _wouldn’t_ say.” She added under her breath. Tony glanced down at her.

“What are you thinking?”

She shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t know, daddy.” She spoke, wearily. “I’ve only been here, what, thirty minutes? Already, I’m reeling! By the end of the night, my brain’s gonna be mush!” She sent him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to offer much insight on things. At least not right away. It’ll take everything in me to say sane these next two weeks!”

Tony smiled and pressed another kiss to her temple. “You’ll do fine, munchkin. You’re a Soprano just as much as a Capaletti and a Camorra. You’ve got three kinds of iron in your veins!”

“Thanks, daddy.” She spoke as they came to a stop. Tony nodded to the nearby door before jerking his thumb over his shoulder down the hall. “This is your room. I’m a few doors down that way. Pauli is a few doors on that side. Christopher is right across from you. You need anything, let us know.”

“Thanks. I’ll do so.” She spoke. Tony wrapped her up in another big bear hug before freeing her to enter her room. It was gorgeous. Big and open, with a balcony that looked out onto the Mediterranean. The bathroom was just as big and luxurious. All white marble.

She stood in front of the balcony doors, gazing out for a moment before moving over to the bed. Falling backwards, she allowed herself to drop onto the comfortable surface. She kicked off her shoes and gazed up at the ceiling, her thoughts whirling before sleep claimed her.  
  


* * *

She woke to a polite knocking on her door. She was so deep asleep that she thought she was dreaming the knock. Then, slowly, she clawed her way to consciousness and turned her gaze onto the balcony doors. Through the glass, the sun was setting low on the horizon. It was getting late. It had to be nearing the time for dinner.

Crawling out of the bed, she took a moment to stretch before padding to the door. Opening it, a bellhop stood there, a milky silver bag – the color of liquid mercury -- in his hand. He gave a broad smile when he saw her and held the bag out to her. He spoke in Italian. “Delivery courtesy of signor Giunta. He said this was to reach you as soon as possible. It was of the _utmost_ importance!”

“Well! Tell him thank you, then!” She spoke, unable to keep a smile off her face. She reached out and took the bag from him. She gazed at it, tickled for a moment of his choice of wording. “Of the upmost importance”? Furio Giunta had a funny side, it seemed. Her brows furrowed as she moved an errant curl behind her ear. “I’m sorry, but do you have the time?”

Smartly, the bellhop flicked out his wrist. He glanced at his wristwatch before folding his arm behind his back. “I have six fifteen.”

She smiled and thanked him before closing the door. Moving over to the nearby table, she deposited the gift bag on to it. She gazed at it for a minute before releasing a laugh and shaking her head. Reaching forward, she undid the tape. She removed the crinkling silver foil before withdrawing the brunt of the contents. She gasped upon sight of the sketchbook in her hands, her eyes widening in shock. It was easily the most expensive sketchbook she had ever possessed. The cover was of black moleskin, flawless. The pages inside weren’t cheap paper. They were the thick, creamy cardstock. She flipped open the cover and allowed the pads of her fingers to run over the pages. She felt the weight as she flipped them. It tore her heart to close it and put it down, but she did. She reached back in and withdrew two leather wallets. One held drawing pencils and the other, black tubes of charcoal. Like the sketchbook they matched, these were expensive, too. Both in classic black moleskin.

Her mind whirled. Furio had spent good money on these supplies. Her first instinct was to return them and demand to buy her own. She simply _couldn’t_ accept such expensive gifts from a man who was a veritable stranger! Her second instinct, though, was to do the opposite. To keep them. She did want to! She wanted to keep them with a longing that almost frightened her. After all, she would _never_ own anything half as expensive as what she held in her hands at that moment.

_My sketchbook of Italy . . ._ She thought as she hugged the two wallets to her chest. She gazed down at it, a smile on her face _._ Inside her chest, her heart fluttered.  
  


* * *

Two black cars waited for them that night. Two black cars to escort them to dinner with her family. She exited the hotel behind Tony and Pauli, feeling bereft without Christopher. They had knocked and knocked on his door before coming down. Hell, Tony had almost _kicked_ it down – but her stupid cousin still hadn’t answered. As a result, Tony was in a foul mood. He had planned on Christopher making this dinner with him and Pauli. The fact that he didn’t, irked him. Like a lion with a thorn in his paw.

There was a healthy breeze that night. It blew the curls of her black hair around her head, forcing her to wrangle it into some kind of control with her hands. She was dressed in a shimmering gold sheath dress with matching strappy heels. She bought them with Carmela at one of the cute little boutiques back in Manhattan. She thought they were Armani, but wasn’t sure. She wasn’t like Adriana. She didn’t care much for labels. She had paired the dress with a rose gold bracelet that belonged to her mother – her _birth_ mother. A thin gold chain hung around her neck.

She sensed Furio’s gaze on her before she saw him.

She had been busy wrangling her hair into order when she sensed his approach. She released a growl of irritation upon finding a few errant curls caught up in the gold around her neck. Furio chuckled before gesturing to it. “May I?”

She nodded and flicked her hand at him. Moving her hair out of the way, he gently worked to disentangle the chain. To her slight chagrin, he succeeded. He pulled it into order as she allowed her hair to fall back into place.

“You look beautiful tonight, signora Capaletti.”

“Signorina.” She corrected him, absentmindedly, as she searched for her father. She found Tony and Pauli by the first car conversing with another black suited man. She missed the smile that flickered across his face. Relaxing upon catching sight of her father, she sent Furio a smile. “Thank you, though. I probably would have resorted to pulling the damn thing off if I couldn't disentangle it!” She spoke with a laugh. She melted further when she remembered the sketchbook. “Thank you _so_ much for the supplies, as well! The sketchbook was _beautiful_! I don’t know how I could possible thank you!”

He laughed and shrugged. “It was nothing, _dolcezza_.” He spoke, slipping into Italian. Her brows rose with the upgraded term of endearment. What was with this guy and his terms of endearment? “Anybody could have gotten some cheap sketchbook. I thought you might want something that would _remind_ you of Napoli.”

“Still though! How could I ever repay you? The sketchbook, it was so . . .” She trailed off and shook her head. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “It wasn’t cheap, Furio! You spent good money on it.”

He gave another shrug. A nonchalant one. He moved to bury his hands in the front pockets of his trousers. “There are many beautiful places in Napoli. Some are less well-known. Some are very well-known. If you like, I can show them to you. For your sketchbook.”

Her brows rose. “Are you asking me out?”

He shook his head, a look of slight effrontery on his face. “I would never presume! You are the Don’s granddaughter! Yet . . .” He trailed off, looking at a loss for words before adding: “This is your first time in Italy – in Napoli! The tourist traps are fine. They are _okay_. But to _experience_ Napoli the way Napoli _should_ be experienced . . . requires places _other_ than the places tourists frequent. Often, these places are better!”

She found herself at a loss for words. Visions of them together filled her head. Them striding down Roman roads and in-between ancient, long dry viaducts. Them weaving among crumbling Roman villas and ruins. His hand lingering on the small of her back as she climbed atop ruined walls so she wouldn’t fall . . .

She remembered what Victoria said before she left. How she would _laugh_ if she could see her now! _“Forget getting dick-whipped by some guy named Paolo!”_ Ariella could imagine Victoria’s cackling. _“You gonna be getting dick-whipped by some guy named_ Furio _!”_

Ariella grit her teeth and beat the visions and words out of her head with a stick. Then she ran from them, screaming.

She shook her head and moved her gaze down to her feet. “I don’t think it would be . . . _seemly_ for us to be seen alone together. Don’t you think, Furio? Me being the granddaughter of the Don and all . . .”

He was silent for a moment. Then, a small smile appeared on his face. With respect, he inclined his head to her. “Of course, _dolcezza_.”

He reached out to her. His fingers brushed her elbow. With this ghost of a touch, he led her towards the black cars. She allowed him to lead, feeling a curious tightening in her heart. In her stomach. 

Foreshadowing her _ass_!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will most definitely be a slow burn story. Furio strikes me as the type of guy who would legitimately want to "seduce" the woman he wants to be with, not someone he just wants to have a one night stand with. So don't expect this story to earn it's 'E' rating for quite a bit.
> 
> Sorry not sorry.


End file.
